Vladimir Putin’s crackdown on opponents, protesters and activist groups may be a sign of fragility as much as of strength

ON A recent stormy night, Moscow’s hip crowd gathered for the opening of the summer terrace at the Strelka architecture and design institute, which has one of the city’s trendiest bars. It has served as a shelter for educated, Westernised and privileged Muscovites insulated from the Kremlin across the river. Yet neither the live bands, nor the mojitos, nor the sight of Roman Abramovich, could cast out the worry that encroaching politics may be about to end the party abruptly.

When Vladimir Putin returned to the Kremlin a year ago many expected repression to be swift and brutal. But he took his time, letting the public and the West get used to each small tightening of the screw. A year on the growing repression is clear.

The new climate is symbolically marked by a proposed memorial plaque to Leonid Brezhnev. A recent poll finds the long-serving Soviet leader to be Russia’s favourite ruler, though to many he is a symbol of stability that turned into stagnation. The Brezhnev years were rich in drama: the overthrow of Khrushchev, the crushing of reforms in Czechoslovakia, war in Afghanistan, the exile of Andrei Sakharov. The first year of Vladimir Putin’s third presidential term has also been eventful: many protesters arrested, Alexei Navalny, an opposition leader, facing prison, and Memorial, a human-rights group founded by Sakharov, under assault with other NGOs.

The former president (now prime minister), Dmitry Medvedev, who symbolised a quasi-thaw, has not yet been fired, but he has been weakened. His deputy, Vladislav Surkov, who favoured co-option over repression, has gone. And the political elite is being purged of “unreliable elements”. The latest victim is Sergei Guriev, a liberal economist who headed Moscow’s New Economic School and advised Mr Medvedev. After being interrogated by prosecutors and having his office searched, Mr Guriev has fled to Paris. His troubles stem from giving an expert opinion on a case involving Yukos, an oil company, in a report which criticised the jailing of Mikhail Khodorkovsky. He also openly supported Mr Navalny, devising his economic formula, “don’t lie and don’t steal”. Mr Guriev’s flight reveals a shift within the political elite: he was close to Arkady Dvorkovich, Mr Medvedev’s right-hand man.

In the past the Kremlin has shown little tolerance for political challengers. But as Kirill Rogov, an opposition observer, notes, it largely limited its control to politics, manipulating elections and marginalising the opposition. (No political party was allowed to emerge without the sanction of Mr Surkov, Mr Putin’s chief ideologist.) But faced with mass protests by civil activists and ordinary citizens, not politicians, the Kremlin is trying to extend its control to other areas, including the internet and even entertainment magazines which carry protest banners. “The Kremlin is trying to destroy the infrastructure of the protest movement,” says Mr Rogov.

Its new law defines any civil or public activity as political and demands that any independent NGO receiving foreign money be stigmatised as a “foreign agent”, a phrase that has clear connotations of treachery. The transformation of the Soviet dissident movement into institutions such as Memorial was one of the main legacies of Mikhail Gorbachev’s perestroika. That legacy is now being reversed.

The first casualty of the new law was Golos (Vote or Voice), an election watchdog. Others include Transparency International, an anti-corruption group. On May 16th Levada Centre, Russia’s oldest and most respected pollster, was told by prosecutors to register as a foreign agent, which it and other Russian NGOs refuse to do. Such defiance presents the Kremlin with a choice of backing off or pursuing them to the bitter end.

Inside Mr Putin’s head

A problem with Russian politics is that so much of it happens in one man’s head. A turn towards repression may not be a sign of Mr Putin’s strength, but rather of his fear and desperation. Some advisers say he is worried about instability and is doing as much as he can to eliminate anything or anyone that contributes to it. This also affects his economic decisions. “He resists spending money or conducting economic reforms because they will yield short-term instability,” says one analyst. The result is falling investment and slower growth.

What he does not see is that the biggest destabilising factor of all was his own return to the Kremlin. In trying to hold the situation still, he destabilises it further, forcing further repression. Lacking a coherent ideology, the Kremlin is justifying itself by ratcheting up its confrontation with the West and its search for enemies within. It has partly succeeded: the number who believe that Russia has outside enemies has gone from 13% in 1989 to more than 70%, according to Levada. Nationalism, xenophobia and intolerance, once part of the political fringe, have become mainstream— something even Vladimir Zhirinovsky, Russia’s clownish right-wing nationalist leader, cannot have expected. Confrontation with the West has a polarising effect on the Russian elite, squeezing out those most linked to the West and strengthening the siloviki, the security services, who demand more purges.

“The Kremlin bosses are no longer satisfied with general loyalty, but demand that you prove your loyalty by making a public sacrifice—be it support of a law against adoption of orphans by American families or something else,” says one official. Anyone who does not is deemed unreliable. Many of the moderate and liberal members of elite are not prepared to do this, as Mr Guriev has shown. Yet there is also little sign of consolidation of the elite against Mr Putin. One reason is fear, but a more serious one is the lack of an overarching idea or a clear leader.

The negative image of pro-Western reformers in the 1990s makes a pro-Western programme of change all but impossible to sell. Nationalism has been discredited by its affiliation with the Kremlin. The absence of an alternative may give Mr Putin comfort, but as Russia’s history suggests, it is also a sign of political fragility. It was the presence of Boris Yeltsin in the political landscape that ensured a relatively peaceful transition of power after the Soviet collapse. The lack of such a figure now raises the risk of the unexpected.

“Contradictions and injustices within the society are growing and instead of trying to resolve them peacefully, the Kremlin uses force, which makes a peaceful transition of power unlikely,” says one businessman. The trouble may be a long way off or it may come soon—Russia’s history shows that it is not possible to predict. But those who greeted Mr Putin’s return to the Kremlin with the mournful conclusion that they would be stuck with him until 2024 may have got it wrong.